


Fill Every Crack with Gold

by StarScribbler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Caring Sherlock Holmes, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, John Watson Needs A Hug, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarScribbler/pseuds/StarScribbler
Summary: "John, I don't know what's going on, and at this point, I don't really care what it is. You could say you're depressed, and you need to take two months off of work to attend intensive therapy, and I would watch Rosie for you and take care of the finances. You could say you've finally realized you're bisexual, and you're spending all of your time and energy trying to attract a boyfriend, and I would find you someone perfect within the next twenty-four hours. You could say anything, John, but you need to say something. Because you're not okay, and you need help. So please tell me what's going on, John. I guarantee I won't run away. I don't think I could leave even if I tried."





	Fill Every Crack with Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [love_in_mind_palace (mysleepyhead)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysleepyhead/gifts).



> The title was inspired by the Japanese tradition of mending broken dishes with gold to turn the damage into art.
> 
> This fic is for love_in_mind_palace (mysleepyhead) whose tumblr blog I adore.

“Sherlock, I’m going to the pub. Would you please watch Rosie for me?”

“Hmmm?” the detective glanced up from his experiment and took a look at John’s outfit. “Oh, pub. Watch Rosie. Yes, of course.”

“Thanks, mate.” Sherlock felt a firm squeeze on his shoulder before he heard John shut the door. Watch Rosie, right. Sherlock froze. He glanced around the flat. Where was Rosie?

Sherlock reluctantly put down his petri dish and proceeded to look in all the normal places - the bath, the couch, J - oh, yes, John had put her to bed. Bed. Was it bedtime already? Granted, Sherlock didn't have a bedtime, but John did. Why was John out so late tonight?

After four hours of randomly switching off between experiments and violin, Sherlock plopped onto the couch. It was past midnight, and John still wasn't home. John never stayed at the pub this late. He had standards. Well, actually, Lestrade never stayed at the pub this late, and John didn't drink alone.

“Please tell me John hasn't gone home with some random woman,” Sherlock groaned. And as the hour passed, the detective had less and less reason to believe that anything else could have happened.

And it hurt. Though obviously John and Sherlock weren't dating, they had both silently agreed that they belonged to each other. At least, that's what Sherlock had understood through the silence. Obviously he had been misreading things.

It was around two o’clock when Sherlock finally received a text.

“Be home in a few hours.”

So John was spending the night with her? After just a few hours at the pub? Sherlock felt sick to his stomach. He typed his reply with tired fingers.

“Have fun. Be safe. SH”

 

\----

 

Sherlock awoke to the sound of footsteps. He sat up on the couch and looked around the room confused. It was still dark. There was no way on earth John was back yet.

But that was obviously John shuffling around the kitchen making tea.

Sherlock lay back down and began running over all the possible scenarios. Maybe John wanted to be back before Rosie woke up. Maybe he regretted hooking up so shortly after his wife had died and didn’t want to face his partner when she woke up. Maybe they hadn’t actually gone back to her place, and it had just been an extended fling at the bar. Whatever it was, Sherlock had to remind himself that it unfortunately wasn’t his business.

As he drifted off to sleep, it hit him: he didn’t know. He had just been put in a situation in which he didn’t know that answer. No, that couldn’t be right. Sherlock ran through the options again in his head. He waited for one to stick out as right.

It never did.

 

\----

 

When Sherlock woke the next time, it was light out. He looked around. Nine o’clock. And John was still home. He should have left for work hours ago.

Sherlock reluctantly pulled himself from the sofa and crept around the flat. He peered into his flatmate’s room. Yes, there was John sound asleep in his bed. Rosie was asleep in her crib too. This made no sense. What had John been thinking last night? It’s one things to have a one night stand months after your wife dies. It’s another to simply sleep in and miss work. Maybe John had just forgotten to set his alarm.

Sherlock crept over and shook John’s shoulder lightly. “John, John” he whispered. “Are you getting up or calling in sick today?”

As soon as John woke up, a grimace spread across his face. “Already called in,” he mumbled.

Sherlock didn’t know how to feel about that. “Okay, John. Do you need paracetamol? Do you want me to take care of Rosie?”

“Yes please, Rosie” John groaned. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little past nine, John.”

“No, then, I can’t have anything else yet.”

“Okay, John. I hope you feel better soon.”

 

\---

 

It was around four in the afternoon when John finally pattered down the stairs. Sherlock looked up from the book he had been reading Rosie. “Good afternoon, John.”

Sherlock honestly didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been the absence of a reply that followed. “Papa’s just feeling a little sick, that’s all,” he explained to the baby nestled in his lap. “Are you feeling better? Can I get you anyth --”

“No!” John interrupted sharply, taking a deep shaky breath. His legs appeared to give out beneath him, and he crumpled gently against the banister and slid down till he was sitting on the bottom step. With his glassy blue eyes and vacant expression, John looked as though he hadn’t realized he has changed positions.

Sherlock watched his friend from the living room floor quite concerned but without the slightest idea of what he could do to help.

_ John’s bum is sore _ Sherlock’s mind whispered. Sherlock blinked furiously. Yes, okay. Maybe John’s bum was sore. He’d probably just fallen on it earlier in the week during a chase. Why should he care?

“Where were we Rosie?” Sherlock queried, turning his attention back John’s daughter. He heard John climb back upstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Please like and leave a comment! :)
> 
> Getting 1000 likes on a story is on my life bucket list.
> 
> tumblr: The2of-us-against-the-world


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